


Professor Granger

by zerodawn22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Oblivious Hermione, Office Sex, University/College, fleurmione - Freeform, professor-student, sex with feelings, yearning Fleur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodawn22/pseuds/zerodawn22
Summary: Post-war Hermione has become a professor at a magical university. One of her older students is the infuriating Fleur Delacour. She has carefully pushed Fleur out of her mind since Shell Cottage... As far as Hermione is concerned, Fleur is an arrogant brat and that's all there is to her. Oneshot. Fleurmione.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 14
Kudos: 248





	Professor Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Here's a cheeky oneshot for you all on this dreary Sunday (or whatever day it is for you). I've been trying to improve on my writing so hit me with any comments/reviews on what I'm doing well & what I can work on.
> 
> Side note: I'm part of a Discord server where we chat Harry Potter femslash! It's talking about fave pairings, sharing great fic recommendations and helping some of the authors brainstorm/feeding them plot suggestions. You don't have to be a writer to join, just enjoy Harry Potter f/f pairings and be 18+ The link is discord. gg/6anK88uNst (delete the spaces, I just put them in to trick ao3 lol)
> 
> -Z

Hermione smiled to herself. A small, self-satisfied smile. 

She was sitting in her small university office, quill in hand, marking the latest essays from her Advanced Transfiguration class. 

At first glimpse, she wouldn’t look so different from the Hermione Granger at Hogwarts. Ink-stained fingers, wild brunette curls, hunched over a desk. Of course, she had changed a lot. She was older now. Her curves, carefully hidden under her woollen jumper and jeans, were evidence enough of that. 

Even her demeanour had changed. She had a seriousness and severity about her since the war. It was far more intimidating than the bossy, know-it-all attitude she’d exhibited at school. All her students had heard of her wartime exploits. Most sat in shocked awe, averting their eyes quickly whenever Professor Granger caught them trying to look at her infamous scarred arm. 

That was one keepsake she could have done without. Hermione still shivered sometimes when she caught sight of the slur carved into her arm. _Mudblood._

Dark souvenirs aside, Hermione had learnt to embrace joy and fun in her life when she could. Though her ex-husband Ron would probably debate that. The two had gone through a rather sour divorce a mere three years after the war. Since then, they’d been working on the painful process of mending their former friendship, with frequent arguments. Hermione had learned a valuable lesson with Ron; _marry in haste, repent at leisure._

Hermione smirked as she adjusted the scroll in front of her. This was her main source of enjoyment, as twisted as it was. 

She had carefully drawn an O for _Outstanding_ on the paper, but with a theatrical flourish, slashed a minus sign beside it. 

“That’ll drive the bloody woman mental,” Hermione murmured aloud, her pink lips quirking into an evil grin. 

She was a petty woman. 

But she took her fun where she could find it nowadays. 

Right now she found enjoyment in torturing one of her older students, Fleur Weasley—

_‘Fleur Delacour,’_ Hermione mentally corrected herself, _‘She’s back to being Delacour now.’_

Fleur Delacour, in a burst of activity following her divorce from Bill, had decided to change fields. She’d enrolled in a course at the magical university Hermione taught at. Much to Hermione’s disdain, Fleur had wound up in one of her classes. 

Hermione had always found Fleur infuriating. 

_Aside from that time Fleur healed her at Shell Cottage during the war._ Hermione pushed this memory firmly out of her mind. 

Aside from _that,_ Fleur had always rubbed Hermione the wrong way. Hermione was sure the popular girl judged her. She was proud, cold and utterly full of herself. Hermione couldn’t think of anyone more irritating. 

In perhaps the most annoying twist, Hermione had found quickly that Fleur’s reputation for being bright was not exaggerated. It drove Hermione crazy. 

Hermione couldn’t even reach the end of a sentence in class before Fleur would raise a perfect, manicured hand. The blonde beauty asked _constant_ questions, making the young professor feel like she was in an interrogation some lessons. On top of that, any time Hermione asked the class a question, the blonde practically leapt out of her seat to be the one to answer first. 

Hermione was just relieved she’d never been in any of Fleur’s classes during her year at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. When she’d tried to complain to Harry and Ginny about it, the couple had laughed so hard they cried. Hermione didn’t get what was so funny about it. 

So with entirely unsympathetic friends, Hermione had turned to more petty measures to deal with Fleur and get her kicks. Any time Fleur answered a question, Hermione took _great_ pleasure in telling the blonde she wasn’t _quite_ right, elaborating further on the blonde’s answer. She often asked trick questions, tripping up the blonde on purpose. And when it came to assignments? Hermione, as cruel as it was, went to great lengths to find a way to make sure Fleur fell _just_ short of the mark she wanted. 

Hermione grinned, putting Fleur’s scroll to one side. She couldn’t quite pin down why exactly she elicited so much pleasure from winding up the pretty blonde, but it was fantastic. Seeing those bright blue eyes light up with excitement, only for them to flash with passion. Her plump lips would twist into the cutest frown and she would furrow her brow. Hermione loved watching her reaction. Fleur was clearly a perfectionist and would get incredibly worked up by falling short of perfection. 

Hermione couldn’t wait to watch it play out the next day in class. There was something about watching the composed and icy woman drop her aloof exterior, openly letting her passion show through. 

The brunette sighed, grinning to herself. In the meantime, she would turn to her other hobby. 

Hermione, though she had not told _any_ of her friends, wrote scandalous pieces for the local magazine, _Witch Weekly._ If any of them ever found out, Hermione would be mortified. After the sound mocking she had got from her infatuation with Gilderoy Lockhart, Hermione had learnt to hide almost any trivial interest of hers carefully. 

That and… A lot of her pieces were based on people rather close to Hermione. In fact, all of Hermione’s columns were based on the stories of her friends and students. Hermione made sure to only use ones she had overheard or heard in a large group of people. She was also careful to change names, alter slight details— she would never name and shame someone like that wretched Rita Skeeter. Hermione would also never in a million years want to be discovered as the mysterious Feisty Frieda from _Witch Weekly._

Hermione resumed scrawling her latest entry. She’d overheard a young woman in one of her morning lectures telling her friends about a _rather_ interesting incident in a broom closet with two young men at the same time. 

Hermione licked her quill before dunking it in ink. This one would be sure to garner some fantastic reviews. 

———

The next day in class, Hermione could barely wait until the end of class when she would be handing the assignments back. 

Every time Fleur sat bolt upright in her seat, a slender arm raised, her face arrogantly confident that she knew the answer, Hermione ached to give her the assignment back. 

After what felt like the longest time, Hermione finally finished her lecture, fielding no less than twenty different questions from the intense Frenchwoman in her class. 

Hermione pulled out the box of marked essays onto her desk, hiding her smirk as the students began to form an orderly queue to collect their assignments on the way out of class. 

Fleur, all too typically, somehow made her way to the front of the queue with little effort. Hermione rather suspected some unethical use of her thrall and some flips of her silky platinum blonde hair. 

“‘Ermione,” Fleur greeted, a sly smile playing at her mouth as she approached the desk. 

Hermione suppressed an eye roll. Fleur’s accent and English had improved exponentially over the years, yet she still somehow always missed the ‘h’ from Hermione’s name. She wondered sometimes if it was on purpose. A way for the haughty girl to put her down subtly. 

“Professor,” Hermione corrected tersely. 

Fleur’s smile faltered a little, before she beamed again, showing her perfect white teeth. 

“I did a lot of extra research for this one,” Fleur informed her proudly. 

“I could tell,” Hermione said sweetly, smiling back, “Sorry, we really must be keeping the line moving along.” 

Hermione pushed Fleur’s scroll into her perfectly manicured hands, waving dismissively for the blonde to move to one side. Hermione then pretended to focus on giving the other assignments out to her students, watching the blonde out of the corner of her eye. 

Sure enough, Fleur was a wonder to behold. The proud smile on her features increased as she initially set her eyes on the ‘O’ before noticing the minus beside it. Hermione felt a rush through her system as Fleur’s sapphire eyes flashed with irritation and passion. Her perfect front teeth bit down firmly on her plump bottom lip, almost as if she was suppressing a growl. Her flawless eyebrows furrowed, creating the cutest line between her brows. Hermione found herself smiling, playing it off as friendliness towards her other students. 

Perfect. 

——

When Fleur saw the minus beside her O, her stomach sank like lead through water. Fleur had been doing her best to gain Hermione’s attention. She was always the first to raise her hand and made sure every essay she wrote was absolute perfection. If there was anything she learned about Hermione at Hogwarts, it’s that she admired an intelligent person, despite her lapse in judgement marrying Ron Weasley.

She glanced back at Hermione, who had already turned her attention to other students, smiling warmly. She didn’t notice Fleur, except to flash her a single glance of disdain. 

Fleur’s chest ached. 

——

Hermione had been in her office for a few hours when there was an insistent rap at the wooden office door. 

The brunette didn’t even have a chance to reply before the door whipped open, revealing a very pissed off Veela. 

“Miss Delacour,” 

Hermione was surprised, but not at all disappointed. Fleur’s eyes were still wild with passion, instantly bringing a smile to Hermione’s face. 

“‘Ermione,” Fleur greeted curtly, stomping in her heels until she was leaning over Hermione’s desk. 

“Professor,” Hermione corrected, “If this is about your assignment—“ Hermione began with a calmness she knew would infuriate the blonde further. 

“I _know_ I deserved an O for that,” Fleur said firmly, her nostrils flaring with anger, “How dare you give me an O-“ 

In perhaps another unfair element to Fleur’s looks, she appeared even more beautiful when enraged. Her high and delicate cheekbones were flushed. Her mane of silvery-blonde hair was wild, strands falling around her face. Her pupils were dilated and she had almost a feral look about her. 

“Perhaps you have an unreasonably high opinion of yourself?” Hermione suggested, leaning forward in her chair and tenting her fingers on her desk. This was beyond satisfying. Perhaps she would be the only person to successfully put the blonde in her place? Fleur probably wasn’t used to people telling her things she didn’t want to hear. Not with an alluring thrall and looks to match. 

“I—“ Fleur was momentarily lost for words, swallowing hard and furrowing her brows. 

Hermione remained quiet, watching intently as the blonde began to fall apart. She couldn’t wait for Fleur to throw an entitled tantrum. Perhaps she would send her out of her office in shame? Maybe even hang the possibility of suspension over her? 

“Why is nothing I do good enough for you?!” Fleur snapped, surprising Hermione. Not quite what she expected from Fleur’s tantrum, but she would take it all the same. She smirked at the blonde’s flush returning with a vengeance, the blush extending all the way over her cheeks and down her neck. 

Hermione wondered idly if torturing Fleur Delacour made her a bad person. 

Surely it was negated by Fleur’s pure obnoxiousness. Fleur Delacour was very clearly a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. 

“Mature students often find it a little harder to keep up,” Hermione said sweetly, cocking her head to one side for extra innocent effect. 

Fleur slammed a hand down on the desk, reminding Hermione satisfyingly of the tantrums the blonde used to throw at Hogwarts as a teen, long before perfecting her uncaring disposition. 

“Bullshit,” Fleur hissed, “I _know_ I’m the best in your class. Why won’t you notice me?!” 

Hermione smiled widely, leaning back in her chair now. This was possibly the best reaction she had ever elicited from Fleur. She might not understand her intense dislike of the blonde, but she truly did enjoy messing with her. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Delacour,” Hermione said calmly, smiling politely, “I have a lot of classes and a lot of students.” 

“You’ve known me for years!” Fleur replied, truly outraged now. 

Hermione took great pleasure in Fleur’s sheer frustration at not holding her attention. It was about time she realised she wasn’t centre of the universe. 

“I guess we don’t know each other that well,” Hermione shrugged. She ran a hand through her voluminous curls casually, almost as if she were bored with the conversation. 

Fleur looked positively apoplectic. She took her hands off the desk, drawing up to her full height and scowling at the brunette. Hermione knew as well as anyone that it was dangerous to toy with a Veela’s temper. But Fleur was only a quarter-Veela. What was the worst she could do?

Hermione could see a muscle tense in Fleur’s jaw. The blonde truly had a devastatingly perfect jawline, Hermione noticed. It was only enhanced further by her tense demeanour. 

“I…” Fleur started hissing out a sentence, before her face suddenly, abruptly, burst into a sly grin, “I think I know you more than you think, ‘Ermione,” 

Hermione was a little rattled by Fleur regaining some of her cocky attitude, but tried not to show it. She wasn’t sure what the blonde Veela was getting at. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Hermione said evenly, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Fleur didn’t have anything on her. The only things she really knew about her were her scars and that she’d divorced Ron. All very public knowledge. 

But Fleur rested her hands on the edge of Hermione’s desk, leaning over with a smile as if the tables had very much turned. 

“Are you sure about that… _Frieda_?” Fleur asked, accentuating the name for dramatic effect. Her sapphire eyes lit up dangerously. 

Hermione’s stomach wrenched violently and she fought to keep the heat from her cheeks. 

‘ _There’s no way she could possibly know,’_ Hermione reasoned, attempting to calm her accelerating heartbeat. 

“I’m not quite sure what you are on about, sorry,” Hermione replied evenly, forcing a smile. 

Fleur smiled back wider, leaning further over Hermione’s desk. 

“I know you write erotic columns for _Witch Weekly,_ ” Fleur said bluntly, throwing the accusation baldly out into the open. 

This time Hermione really did feel a blush creep up her neck. 

“They’re not _erotic!”_ Hermione hissed, thoroughly scandalised. She didn’t even think about what she was saying until the words were out of her mouth, snapping her mouth shut again in shock at her own admission. 

“Then what would you call them?” Fleur asked, cocking her head to one side. Her hair tumbled in a blonde waterfall as fell from her shoulders to hang about her face. Fleur would almost look angelic if she weren’t such a prick, Hermione thought tartly to herself. 

Hermione considered denying it. But it wouldn’t be much use. Fleur wasn’t stupid and Hermione had entirely let the cat out of the bag with her reaction.

“They’re… fiction,” Hermione said lamely. She was silently fuming at the sudden change in the power dynamic. The last thing she wanted was for Fleur bloody Delacour to feel superior once again. 

Fleur smiled, her full lips twisting into an impish grin. Hermione’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

“I couldn’t help but notice most were suspiciously similar to stories shared by my classmates,” Fleur said, her eyes gleaming mischievously, “The ones often shared when you are getting organised before starting a lecture.” 

Hermione’s jaw clenched at that. Her blush was taunting her with the burn on her skin. Fleur _absolutely_ knew.

“I…” Hermione hated how stupid she was sounding now. It was like she was right back at Hogwarts and Fleur was laughing with the popular girls outside the library. She had always suspected they were laughing at her. The way they looked over frequently at her, the way they laughed louder after looking at her. 

Fleur smiled wider, enjoying the shift in dynamic. Hermione had always made her feel stupid. Even back at Hogwarts during her exchange for the Triwizard Tournament. She’d developed a teen crush on the prodigy early on in her exchange and consequently been unable to speak a word in her presence. Whenever her friends saw Hermione nearby, they had always taken the opportunity to tease her about her crush. 

“Miss Delacour,” Hermione said, straightening her shoulders in a weak attempt at regaining her composure. 

“Fleur,” Fleur corrected with a smirk as she leaned forward on the desk, taking joy in how flustered the usually stoic Hermione Granger was becoming.

“Er-- Ah-- Fleur,” Hermione conceded reluctantly, “Have you told anyone else about your, ah, assumption?” 

“Tell me, ‘Ermione,” Fleur said, relishing the brunette’s name. She loved letting her accent get so thick on Hermione’s name that it lost the ‘h’ sound. “Were any based on me?” 

Fleur stepped around the desk until she was on the same side of the desk as Hermione, half sitting on the edge of the desk, facing the young professor. 

Hermione’s blush darkened further. She looked like she was about to break into a sweat. 

“W-what?! Of course not!” Hermione snapped, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me into raising your grade, you are being _entirely_ unethical!” 

Fleur raised an eyebrow. 

“Unethical?” Fleur challenged, “Like, a professor profiting from their students' stories without their knowledge?” 

Fleur sniffed and flipped a sheet of her white-blonde hair over her shoulder. 

Hermione frowned then, all her frustration bubbling to the surface and beginning to boil over. Fleur with her perfect smile, her sexy accent, her cute laugh… She always found a way to come out on top. Always so confident, always so _goddamn_ assured. 

“You’re just frustrated that your work is always flawed,” Hermione shot back. It wasn’t true. Fleur was a truly gifted student. But it didn’t matter. Hermione was _sick_ of her. 

Fleur’s sapphire eyes lit up and she let out a small growl. 

Before Hermione knew what was happening, Fleur had leaned down, hooked a hand behind her neck and pulled her face in. Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed with an immense softness pressing against her lips. Her eyes bulged as she processed what was happening. 

_‘Oh HELL no,’_ Hermione thought wildly. 

Fleur had somehow already managed to deepen the kiss and straddle Hermione’s lap. Hermione felt her temper spike further. 

Fleur was going to embarrass her by revealing she knew about her columns and then _kiss_ her? No way. 

Hermione, in her surge to get one over on Fleur, didn’t even think about stopping. Instead, she stood up abruptly, pushing the blonde from her lap. She pressed her body against Fleur’s, pinning her to the desk. She wrapped her arms possessively around Fleur’s waist, kissing back with fervour. 

She felt Fleur let out a small whimper and smirked. Yes. 

This felt better than any reaction she had elicited from Fleur thus far. A hand snaked its way up Fleur’s back, threading through silky soft hair before tangling behind her head. She tugged lightly and Fleur let out a gasp, breaking the kiss. Hermione took the opportunity to bite down on Fleur’s soft bottom lip, enjoying the pleasured hiss Fleur let out. 

The smug hum Hermione involuntarily let out seemed to snap Fleur back to her senses. Sapphire eyes flashing, she frowned before roughly reversing their positions, shoving Hermione against the desk. She pressed her body against Hermione’s, a toned thigh purposefully between the brunette’s legs. 

Hermione’s eyebrows skyrocketed, her eyelids fluttering shut at the unexpected rush of… pleasure. 

She opened her eyes again, locking with sapphire blue. Fleur still looked pissed, extremely pissed. But her pupils had blown, her irises only thin lines of blue around the outside. Hermione’s eyes drifted downwards, taking in Fleur’s pink lips, slightly swollen from the vigorous kissing. Her eyes then fell to Fleur’s delicate collarbones, exposed as her button up shirt had slipped a button loose. Her creamy white chest was rising and falling rapidly. 

She must have been staring for too long, because Fleur pressed her thigh harder against her. Hermione let out a pitiful mewl. The smell of fresh flowers and honeysuckle invaded her senses as Fleur dipped her head in, her lips brushing lightly against Hermione’s neck. Then dropping a short, soft kiss. Then another one, and another one. 

Hermione hated how much she was loving this. But she would be a fool not to realise she was in heaven right now. Fleur kissed at the juncture where her neck met her shoulder, nipping down playfully. Hermione whimpered. She was helpless, at the mercy of the pleasure Fleur was eliciting. 

Fleur’s hands were playing at the waist of Hermione’s chinos, before tugging at the bottom of her button-up shirt. Carefully, with great relish, Fleur slipped her hands under the hem of Hermione’s shirt, slowly running her fingers over the warm skin beneath. To the blonde’s delight, she could feel goosebumps spreading across the skin at her touch.

Hermione tried, she really did try, not to give in. But the blonde’s hands were everywhere and nowhere. The pressure of Fleur’s thigh between her legs was too much. And the _fervour_ of the neck kisses… It was driving Hermione into a spiral she wasn’t sure she could get out from. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get out from. 

Fleur kissed up Hermione’s throat, her lips impossibly soft. Her lips brushed and kissed against Hermione’s jawline before capturing the brunette’s own lips once more. Hermione sighed into the kiss. 

Fleur removed her thigh from between Hermione’s legs, offering the brunette a brief moment of reprieve. But before Hermione’s brain could kick back in again, the button of her chinos was roughly ripped open and a slender hand descended down the front of her underwear. 

Hermione let out a strangled groan as she felt Fleur’s hand cup her gently before dextrous fingers began to curiously explore. 

“Fuck,” Hermione didn’t often curse, but it tumbled out of her mouth in the moment. 

Fleur paused, kissing at Hermione’s neck before moving her full lips to her ear. 

“You want this?” Fleur asked, her voice suddenly husky. The way Fleur said it, it was unclear if it was a statement or a question. But Hermione felt herself quivering and answering despite herself. 

“Y-yes,” Hermione confessed, immediately cursing her traitorous body. Even if she hadn’t verbalised her want, Fleur could feel the slickness betraying her desire. Hermione didn’t have much time to dwell or sulk, as slender fingers slipped through her folds with such gentle determination it made her breath hitch.

Fleur pressed herself even more against Hermione, her firm body and soft curves enough to make Hermione want to sigh. 

Hermione disliked Fleur. She did. But right now every fibre in her body was screaming out for the blonde. 

Fleur’s fingers made a few more long strokes through her folds, relishing the feeling of just how wet Hermione was for her. Hermione groaned, a guttural primal groan from deep in her throat. 

Fleur smiled smugly into Hermione’s neck. Hermione’s soft curls were brushing her nose as she dropped another kiss and nip to the brunette’s neck. Hermione’s hips jerked against her. 

Fleur’s fingers moved to shorter, more concentrated strokes, as they moved closer to Hermione’s clit. The blonde let out a hum of content as she began to lazily circle the small bud of pleasure. Her other hand, up until now, had been holding Hermione firmly by the waist, up underneath her shirt. She moved it up and around now, moving to cup one of Hermione’s breasts. Fleur squeezed and palmed it as her other hand sped up its rhythm. 

Hermione threw her head back, strangled noises of pleasure bursting forth from her open mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut. She was a marionette. Fleur knowing exactly what strings to loosen and pull to make her body dance. 

Fleur seemed to be enjoying herself just as much, the fervoured little nips and kisses speeding up along Hermione’s neck. She let out a number of pleasured sighs, smirking into the brunette’s ear. 

Hermione was sprinting along the edge of the Earth, lost in pleasure, spiralling hopelessly higher. One hand tangled in a mane of impossibly soft hair, one hand gripping Fleur’s back so tightly she was sure her nails were going to leave marks. 

“‘Ermione,” Fleur panted, before running her tongue delicately along the shell of Hermione’s ear. 

Hermione, usually quick to correct Fleur to call her Professor, no longer cared. The way Fleur said her name was spiking her impossibly higher. 

“Fleur,” Hermione gasped, her voice almost pitifully needful. Her hips were rocking slightly now, coming to meet the rhythm of Fleur’s hand down her pants. 

“Come for me,” Fleur demanded softly. Hermione, pulling at the shreds of her defiance, furrowed her brows, desperately, frantically, trying not to let Fleur get her off so easily. But then Fleur took her earlobe between her full lips and tugged lightly. 

Hermione made an unintelligible groan as bright white stars exploded behind her eyes. A tsunami of relief and pleasure crashed through her body, causing her to buck and shudder in Fleur’s arms. Her hand clawed desperately at Fleur’s shoulder blade, her other one tugging at the long silky hair. Fleur seemed oblivious, continuing her ministrations until Hermione was a panting puddle of a mess in her arms. 

Hermione was still panting as Fleur finally pulled back from her neck, meeting her eyes with a self-satisfied smile. Her pupils were still large, her usually pale face flushed. Fleur bit her lip and smirked wider. 

Hermione, her mind beginning to clear again, felt her familiar annoyance at Fleur rear its head. She was going to wipe that smirk off Fleur’s face. Her hands released Fleur’s shoulder and hair quickly as she grabbed the blonde by the shoulders. She shoved Fleur, reversing their positions so the blonde was once again pushed against the desk. Fleur, caught off-guard, widened her eyes and removed her hand from Hermione’s pants. 

“‘Ermione--” Fleur began, almost as if to explain. 

“Shut _up,_ ” Hermione demanded, before pressing her lips hard against Fleur’s. Her chinos were still undone and beginning to slip down, but Hermione didn’t care, pushing her body against Fleur’s. She was determined to claim Fleur, to take back the power that the blonde had just dangled over her. Her stomach flipped pleasantly as Fleur whimpered and deepened the kiss between them. 

She hooked a hand behind Fleur’s neck to hold her in place, surprised at the eruption of goosebumps over Fleur’s soft skin. The blonde _really_ liked this, huh?

Fleur’s tongue slid smoothly against her own and Hermione felt another pang deep in her stomach. She was already beginning to heat up again. But she had more pressing matters at hand. Namely, making sure Fleur wasn’t going to leave this room believing she had obtained the upper hand. 

Hermione pushed her hips forward, reaching down with her free hand and spreading Fleur’s legs. To her surprise, Fleur acquiesced, spreading her toned thighs for her. Hermione leaned into Fleur, her hips pressing up between Fleur’s legs and her hand pushing up Fleur’s skirt. Fleur’s legs wrapped around Hermione’s waist, holding her close. 

Hermione found her hips rocking into Fleur as her hand travelled up under the blonde’s skirt on a wild exploration. She felt warm, smooth skin. The edge of a lacy thong. Hermione moaned into the kiss. She had always pictured Fleur as being the type of woman with delicate, lacy lingerie. Her hand moved to cup Fleur’s ass. 

Hermione broke the kiss, gasping at the jolt of arousal coursing through her. Her hips kept grinding into Fleur as their eyes locked. There was no more anger in Fleur’s eyes, but the passion was still glittering in them. 

Hermione’s hand clenched tighter in Fleur’s hair. The blonde let out a small hiss of pleasure, setting Hermione further alight. 

Fleur didn’t think she could break eye contact with Hermione. She was melting, absolutely melting in the war-hero’s arms. 

She’d seen Hermione at her absolute weakest, a mess of bruises and cuts and nightmares. Fleur had done her best to piece Hermione together, though her own heart was aching for the young Gryffindor. A part of her, even though she knew she had only managed to heal Hermione’s physical injuries, had hoped it would be the moment that would bring her and Hermione closer. Yet almost as soon as the war was over, Hermione had gone back to looking at her with contempt. 

Now, though. Now Fleur was in her arms and Hermione was looking at her like she was the only one in the world. Like she wanted to devour her. 

Fleur was sure her heart was pounding so loudly that Hermione would be able to hear it. That Hermione would be able to feel her melting away. Gone was the frustration and anger she had felt at Hermione for the grade, for not noticing her, for not wanting her. Instead, Fleur was lost in pleasure. 

“I… I’ve always wanted you,” Fleur confessed, barely above a whisper. 

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. 

“You always look at me with disdain,” Hermione said, her jaw slackening. 

“You mistake the intensity of my gaze,” Fleur replied, her voice punctuated with pants. 

Hermione didn’t answer, diving in and kissing at Fleur’s neck. She wanted to make Fleur fall apart with neck kisses the same way the blonde had made her. She kissed and sucked, hoping to leave a mark that would last beyond this encounter. So anyone seeing Fleur would know that she’d been claimed, taken by someone. Even if they didn’t know it was her. 

Hermione tugged Fleur’s hair once more, revealing more expanse of neck for her to kiss and claim. As Fleur further submitted to her, she released her grip on her hair, stroking the soft and silky tresses as she dropped sweet kisses to the part-Veela’s throat. 

Fleur let out a purr of appreciation, her legs tightening around Hermione’s waist as she moved her hips to meet Hermione’s. Hermione kissed down her neck, beginning to pepper the parts of Fleur’s chest she could see with kisses. 

She grabbed Fleur’s ass with both hands, holding the blonde to her like she _needed_ her. 

Fleur’s hands rushed to her own shirt, unbuttoning it to allow Hermione more access. Hermione continued kissing along Fleur’s smooth chest, then down into her cleavage, then kissing over the thin laciness that covered her breasts. Fleur’s nipples were hard and pressing against the lace. Hermione teased them with her lips and tongue, enjoying the small whimpers this elicited from Fleur. 

Hermione’s hand snaked its way to between Fleur’s legs, causing the blonde to shiver. Hermione roughly grabbed the lace, no longer appreciating it, merely seeing it as an obstacle between her and her goal. She pulled the underwear down. 

Fleur and Hermione briefly parted, a tense silence as Hermione yanked at the underwear and Fleur lifted her hips to let them slip off. Hermione tossed the underwear carelessly aside, her eyes roaming Fleur. She’d never seen the blonde look anything less than impeccable before. But now, her hair was mussed and clothes askew. Her light blue shirt barely hung on to her, her pastel pink bra on full display. Her loose grey skirt was hitched right up, leaving nothing to the imagination. Bright lovebites were already blooming on her pale skin, like ink on fresh parchment. Hermione thought Fleur had never looked so perfect. 

Fleur herself was in awe of Hermione. She was always so restrained. Right now she looked entirely unbridled. Her brunette curls, already unruly, were positively wild. Her chinos had slid down her legs, though Hermione hardly seemed to care. Fleur could see her tanned thighs leading up to some plain black cotton underwear. Hermione’s white shirt, once very uniform and tidy, had managed to burst several of it’s buttons in the passionate scuffle. But it was Hermione’s eyes that got Fleur. Deep brown flecked with honey, they were always so emotive. Right now they were burning with an intensity Fleur hadn’t seen in Hermione in a long time. Not since before the war. 

Without warning, the two women snapped back together like magnets, hands and lips everywhere at once as they frantically tried to consume every ounce the other was giving. 

Hermione’s hand moved to run up the inside of Fleur’s thigh. It was so soft, like the finest silk. The blonde moaned into Hermione’s shoulder before moving to kiss her. Hermione’s fingers reached the wetness showing how excited Fleur was for her. It took her breath away. Fleur really wanted her. Desired her. 

Fleur let out a small whimper at the stall in Hermione’s movements, wriggling her hips to try and get some friction against Hermione’s hand. Fleur deepened their kiss, sliding her tongue into Hermione’s mouth. 

Hermione ran the pads of her fingers gently up and down Fleur’s folds, relishing how slick they became with the blonde’s want. 

Fleur broke the kiss abruptly, fixing Hermione with a petulant gaze. 

  
“Please, ‘Ermione,” Fleur half begged, half demanded. 

Hermione, who had always seen Fleur as a proud, untouchable and arrogant woman, felt something snap inside her at having the blonde beg. 

She slid two fingers smoothly inside Fleur, watching with wonderment as Fleur’s eyes flickered shut and her breath hitched. Hermione crooked her fingers inside the blonde, loving the feeling of being the one to take Fleur this way. 

Fleur gasped. She’d had her fair share of lovers. Her Veela heritage had assured her she would never suffer a shortage of that. But she’d never felt so electrified, so alive with another person before. 

Hermione slid her fingers out, before pushing them back in, getting more vigorous with her movements as she built a rhythm. She couldn’t help but let out a small groan of satisfaction, resting her face in the crook of Fleur’s neck and listening to the cries of pleasure the blonde was emitting. 

Hermione’s arm was beginning to burn with the effort, but she didn’t care. Nothing else mattered right now. She was melting into Fleur, her lips pressing firmly to the juncture where Fleur’s neck met her shoulder. 

After the war, she’d felt so lost, like she’d been cut adrift from everyone else. She’d been drifting, solitary, for years. Sure, she regularly saw her friends. She had a reasonably social life. But there had always been _something_ there, keeping her separate. She hadn’t felt any proper connection in a long time. She’d thought she had become numb. 

But this, this was different. Hermione felt, unexpectedly, alive again. Like she was in tune with every breath, every sigh, every peak of Fleur’s. She could feel Fleur’s racing pulse against her lips. Smell the scent of honeysuckle that seemed to come from Fleur’s very skin. Even the silvery-blonde strands of hair tickling her nose seemed to feel like something familiar. 

Fleur let out a strangled moan, her hips jerking. 

Hermione remembered Fleur placing a cool cloth on her forehead. 

A soft hand on hers at her bedside. 

Silvery blonde and sapphire meeting her as she emerged from the darkest of nightmares. 

Hermione had been in hell at Shell Cottage. It was the worst period of her life. She’d tried to forget, tried _so hard_ to forget. 

“‘Ermione,” Fleur gasped, “I-I’m getting close.” 

Fleur had always been there. 

Hermione pressed her lips to Fleur’s neck again, then her throat, then her jaw. 

Had she hated Fleur because she reminded her of the worst time of her life? Had she hated Fleur because Fleur had seen her at her most raw and vulnerable? 

Fleur was beginning to tremble in Hermione’s arms now, calling her name more desperately. Hermione was panting, lost in the wave of emotion and pleasure clashing wonderfully and terribly within her at the same time. 

She felt Fleur flutter and clench around her fingers. Hermione watched in wonder as the blonde began to come undone in her arms, shuddering, crying out. She’d never seen Fleur look so unguarded and untamed before. Hermione held her tightly as she rode out her climax. 

The two stayed like that for some time, Fleur on Hermione’s desk, Hermione holding her tightly. Whether minutes or an hour had passed, neither could say. All that punctuated the silence were gasping pants and pounding heartbeats.

Finally, a little embarrassed now the wild moment of passion had passed, Hermione released her tight grip on Fleur, moving back to look at the blonde. 

Fleur’s hair was tangled and wild, her neck and chest littered in bright lovebites. Hermione was much the same. 

Fleur’s bright sapphire eyes regarded Hermione intently. 

“So…” Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, “That was probably inappropriate.” 

Fleur’s full lips jerked into a smile. 

“Probably,” 

“I, uh…” Hermione was a little bashful now, rubbing at the back of her neck, “I guess I… You’re… You’re all right, Fleur.” 

It was the closest Hermione could manage to an apology. How does one even word that they were judging someone unfairly? It didn’t feel like an appropriate thing to say directly after sex. 

Fleur smiled more widely. 

“You’re all right too, ‘Ermione,” Fleur responded. 

Hermione’s brain was beginning to work again, the fog of arousal clearing. Cogs were whirring as she processed everything. 

“What does this mean?” Hermione asked, “For… Us? Do you want to… But I’m your professor… But I think I’d rather like to…” 

Fleur chuckled lightly, pressing a finger against Hermione’s soft lips. 

“You think too much,” Fleur told her, “We will have plenty of time to talk everything over. Plenty of time to discuss what we want and how to go about it.” 

Hermione never understood people who didn’t like to logically work everything out straight away. The ‘play it by ear’ approach never quite made sense to her. 

“But… What if this causes problems? What if--” 

Fleur silenced Hermione with a quick kiss before smiling impishly. 

“Then if nothing else, at least you have some better material for that column of yours in _Witch Weekly_ ,” Fleur said with a grin. 


End file.
